


Birthdays

by nyxxbx



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Birthday, Bull's Chargers, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, F/M, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Light Angst, Prompt Fic, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxxbx/pseuds/nyxxbx
Summary: A rewrite of Bull's birthday surprise written from his point of view and focused on Lavellan's relationship with Solas.Just a small prompt, inspired by @inn_havi 's prompt challenge for January, though I've been going a bit off track with it.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, The Iron Bull/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull/Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Birthdays

The first day of the Exalted Council has drawn to an end, and Iron Bull can feel the cool of the late afternoon breeze move across his shoulders. The sun is still high in the calm sky and the tavern is almost full, the three highchairs next to him being the only vacant spots.

If he can call it _a tavern_. The ale’s aftertaste is sweet, the bartender is an Orlesian prick with a velvet mask on and the room is too bright, spots of sunlight dancing across the marble floors.

The only remnant of Skyhold’s tavern is Maryden’s singing outside, calloused fingers dancing over the lute, and the occasional snort coming from Sera across the room.

He doesn’t wish to admit how much comfort that gives him.

He sighs and takes a gulp of his ale, nose twitching at the sweetness. He sees her approaching him over the rim of his porcelain mug, and he still feels the inquisitive pull in his stomach when he sees her bare face. She never did explain how her markings had just disappeared over night. Bull suspected it had something to do with the _Fade-walker_ and the abrupt ending to their relationship, but he never prodded with questions. It was unnecessary, it was painful to her – that much he could tell from the way she would wander Skyhold like a ghost weeks and even months after the event. He didn’t want her to put up walls, at least not to protect herself from her inner circle.

And, he has to admit, the now prominent scars marring her features make her look like a _badass_.

“Hey, boss! Glad to see you!” He calls and sees her ears twitch at the loudness of the patron that she passes. She shows no discomfort, though.

She takes a seat next to him, her eyes shining bright with amusement, her throat moving as she swallows. He feels the need to narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“Bull! You’re a pleasant sight…” She says, smirking and he sees her eyes flicker towards one of the archways, the sunlight hitting the large scar on her temple.

Shit, so he _was_ right. Damn straight that he was. Pride swells in his chest.

Rocky was never silent when drunk. And Rocky was always drunk. Of course, Bull only needed to prod the boozed-up dwarf with a couple more questions than usual to make him spill the surprise the Chargers were planning for his birthday.

Bull suspects it was Krem’s idea to send the Inquisitor to distract him.

Affection warms his insides, and he swallows the need to guffaw. This will be fun.

The Orlesian bartender almost trips over his feet to serve the Inquisitor and Iron Bull smirks when she answers with a mere shake of her head, ears flickering backwards in frustration.

“Not in the mood for a drink, boss?” He questions and she places her hands on the counter, toying with the hem of the silver silk on her sleeve.

Feeling out of place, but not necessarily nervous. _Alright_.

“I just came to talk, it’s been a while since we’ve had the opportunity to do so.” Her speech is mumbled and he sees her golden eyes flicker to the side.

His chest tightens in discomfort as he hides a laugh with a gulp of the sweet ale.

“Right…” His answer is short, and he sees her lashes hit the dark circles underneath her lids a few times too many.

She clears her throat, her posture straightening. He raises his left eyebrow, expecting her answer, feigning disinterest. She graces him with a smile that forcefully reaches her eyes making it look painful.

_Andraste’s ass_ , she is bad at this, he thinks.

„You know, Bull, you _almost_ fight like a tempest. Do you ever just want to break a flask over yourself and kill things?” Her voice comes out high-pitched and he sees her jaw tighten.

A nervous tick he noticed from her before.

The question is unlike her, and he lets a laugh pass through him. She had scolded him on many occasions when he would talk with Sera about ‘killing things’. He remembers the time she let out a string of elven curses when they hadn’t been able to save one of the mabari hounds that were so keen on devouring her just moments before. She spent hours crying and days later she had wallowed in pity. Once they had returned to Haven, she practised creating her sleeping concoction for months and Bull remembers how crimson and sunken her eyes looked from the lack of sleep, then.

Like they do now. Only now, the smile that is on her lips is tight and foreign. Like it is not meant for her.

He feels a shiver run up his spine.

Still, he has to answer. And her nervous mannerisms _are_ hilarious.

„No… well, no more than usual, at least.“ He hears a shuffle outside, and takes interest in his drink.

A silent gasp is heard from her and he does not have to turn to know that her eyes are widened.

He swallows another laugh with a gulp.

“D – Did you _know_ that Ferelden has its own name for lords? The country is divided into teyrnirs, governed by teyrns. Inside those are cities and arlings, ruled by arls. And then there’s the bannorn, I think it is called. It is a large area of a countryside, ruled by multiple banns. Such odd names for lords, don’t you think?” She pronounces a few of the words in a distant Dalish accent, hands wringing in front of him.

She is not difficult to read. He would believe it to be a weakness, a vulnerability – before – but he has seen her keep an expressionless façade multiple times. Especially in the last few years. He knows there is not a lot of people who know where to find all of her quirks, and he knows that he is friends with two of them. Well… used to be friends with _one_ of them.

He furrows his brows in fake, deep thought, voice rumbling as he replies.

“Good to know.”

Her frustration is expressed in a short puff of air through her nostrils and his lip twitches in a smile. He sees her narrow her eyes towards the arches and he can’t help himself.

“Something wrong out there, boss?”

She looks back at him with wide eyes, and they are so clear that he can see new speckles of emerald spread amidst the gold. Concern clings to his stomach and he resists the urge to look at her Marked hand.

“No… _no_ , not at all! I was just wondering which song Maryden is playing. _Anyways_ … do you think that the news of the Exalted Council could affect the lyrium shipments from Orzammar?”

He raises his eyebrows and he watches a blush spread across her cheeks at his reaction.

“Shit, boss, where are you getting these questions?” His voice is tinged with surprise, and he furrows his brows to frighten her with the possibility of his suspicion.

She isn’t daft. She knows some of his quirks, too. Those he wishes to show, of course.

“Two years in the solitude of Skyhold have been _enlightening_ , to say the least.” She answers quickly, finger brushing away a stray hair falling from her braid.

Bull notes the melancholy shift in the tone of her voice, just behind that sarcastic lull. It reminds him of someone, though hers is a bit brighter. His was dry, with a heavy weight on top of it. He hopes hers will stay that way.

“You haven’t answered, though… so, what do you think?”

He shrugs. “Uh… maybe?”

She sneaks another glance towards the archways, shoulders shifting as she exhales. She turns back towards him with an awkward smile, though there is something inherently wrong there. It is like a shroud, the black that has fallen over her features, and he sees a distant, dark look in her eyes. Her jaw clenches, though this time he is certain it is not from nervousness. A bang echoes outside and he turns to look at what has caused the commotion, though he knows what he will see.

A hand on his bicep stops him.

Her mouth sputters and he forces back a laugh.

“I… I – it is _fascinating_ to see remnants of Ciriane culture here!” He turns towards her with a furrow in his brow and she plasters a smile on her lips. “Most of it was erased _deliberately_ during Orlesian unification, under the reign of Maferath’s son Isorath.”

He believes it to be a desperate move, her statement. They both share a dislike of Orlesian culture, and though she was always eager to learn something new – even if it was about _Orlais_ – she would never be this ecstatic in retelling it.

“Uh-uh… did you hear that?” He asks, his head turning again, but he feels her insistent pat on his bicep. 

He looks back at her, tilting his head in confusion. She notes her mistake, brows furrowing a bit too tightly to be believable.

“Hear what?”

“Are you deaf, boss? Every Orlesian here pissed themselves after hearing that bang.”

She shrugs, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about… _but_ it is so good to see that the Veil has largely healed.” Her hand covers his forearm as she continues, “You might think otherwise, but the Veil is not technically a physical barrier. It is more like a… magical vibration that repels the Fade! Don’t you think that’s fascinating?” She questions and he notes that strain in her voice once more.

He studies her openly for a moment.

It surprises him how much she has extended her vocabulary since their first meeting. It surprises him how much she sounds like the missing _Fade-walker._ He can almost imagine him saying her sentence in that unknown accent of his, which Bull could simply never place.

Her eyes darken once again, and he notices the green spots with a bit more clarity. Bull wishes to question her at that moment, about the missing _vallaslin_ , that melancholic tinge to her voice, the circles under her eyes, the Anchor, the obvious darkness that has been pulling at her form since two years ago.

He doesn’t get the chance though, as she breaks his thought by pulling on his arm.

His eyes turn to greet his merry band of misfits, and he can’t help but grin despite the serious thoughts he had a mere moment ago.

The dragon skull stands out in the the tavern, and he feels the sweetness of the ale burn at his throat.

“Surprise! Happy birthday, chief!” Krem shouts, extending his hands towards the skull with a relieved glee in his eyes. He sneaks a wink towards the Inquisitor.

“Aww… guys, you got me! You shouldn’t have!” He says, and though he knew about the surprise beforehand – he means it.

The Inquisitor turns back towards him as the Chargers move to snag a table. “Happy birthday, Bull.” She wishes with a smile that seems gentler, fragile almost.

It does not reach her eyes. Not even forcefully.

“Come join us, boss. You deserve a rest.” He offers, hopefully, and he knows the answer before she even comprehends his proposal.

She does not deserve such misery, he thinks.

“Rest?” She scoffs, and her head bows. “We’ve only just begun, Bull. Thanks for the offer, though. I think I might go see where Cole is. Have fun for me?”

“You bet I will, boss.” He cheers, engulfing her in a hug with his one hand.

She laughs and he watches her leave with her hands behind her back, and once again he is reminded of someone who continuously walks beside her in the shadows of both her mind and her being.

He takes a seat with the Chargers, ears already accustomed to their loud yells and he is silent.

Bull wonders if that strain in her voice is only the beginning of something much darker.


End file.
